The Highwayman
by Republic-of-Yolossia
Summary: Emily Williams changes her name and flees to England to escape the hangman's noose, but, navigating the unrest and discontent of georgian england, ends up tangled in the affairs of one of the most vicious criminals of his time, and once more one step away from the gallows. Highwayman!EnglandxFem!America; human AU; contains spabel
1. Outlaw

"Emily hurry," Matilda Williams stopped running and turned around. Her younger sister was falling behind, tiring; this could not happen. She needed to get to the coast as quickly as possible and there was no time to loose. Dawn was coming soon, then they'd realise Emily had escaped. They were still in the woods a few miles from town and if they started searching now the girls would never escape with their lives. But Emily wasn't used to running long distances; Matilda could understand that, she was tiring herself, and the large bag she was carrying didn't help.

"But my feet hurt," Emily protested, "And we must safe now." She ran to her sister until the two girls were standing next to each other.

"Are you insane?" Matilda exclaimed, though her voice never rose above a whisper, in case anyone heard them, "You are a wanted criminal Emily, if they catch you, you will hang. You cannot stay in the country any longer." Matilda handed a small bag heavy with coins, "This will be enough to buy your way onto a ship. Leave here. Go somewhere else. The world's a big place; you will find somewhere you'll fit into."

"Matilda..." Emily took the bag and put it in her boot, it would be safe there. "It's a lot of money."

"Ships are expensive, but it will be worth it if you can live."

"But how will you manage?" Emily asked.

"We will be fine, we can manage, papa, our sisters and I make enough out of the farm." Matilda started walking again, "Come on!" Emily followed obediently, using the silence to reflect on all that had happened.

Emily had lived on a small farm with her papa, Francis, older sister, Matilda, and two younger sisters, Marianne and Michelle, for as long as she could remember. They were poor, but not desperate. When she was old enough to hunt, Emily would bring home animals she'd caught in the woods: rabbits, deer, whatever she could find. Meat was expensive to buy so poaching was the only way to get decent food. Yes, it was poaching. The woods were free to travel in, but not to hunt in.  
That's why she ended up in jail. Although Emily had always been cautious, she had times where she accidentally let her guard down. It was one of those times that caused her to be arrested, tried and sentenced to hang at dawn.  
But Matilda had risked everything to break her out of jail, despite the price of her own life if they were caught. Matilda didn't care, she looked out for Emily and the other girls when they were children and wasn't going to stop looking out for her just because hey were adults.

"This is where we part, sister," Matilda stopped at a junction in the woods, "I have to get back home or they'll know it was me who freed you, though they probably will suspect I did anyway."

"I'm sorry, Tilly." Matilda wrinkled her nose at the ridiculous nickname Emily had given her, then she sighed.

"These things happen," she said, "We will be fine, the important thing is that you get out safely. Eighteen is no age to die."

"Twenty is not much better," Emily looked at her sister. Matilda avoided meeting her eyes as she handed Emily her bag.

"I packed a few shawls, hats, shoes and some personal items of yours. Yes, your knife is in there too." Emily's knife was her prized possession. She's stolen it when she was ten from someone's pocket. They must have been quite rich as the knife was beautifully decorated: Ivory and Ruby encrusted in a dark wooden handle, though Emily didn't recognise the type of wood. The girl had instantly fallen in love with it and took it everywhere with her, and even used it in her hunting.

"Thank you, I thought I had lost that too." she told her sister. Matilda shrugged.

"I found it in the office of the jail; I knew you'd be upset if I didn't take it. Go left and you'll reach the coast in a few hours if you run like the devil himself is upon you."

Emily hugged her sister tightly and hauled the bag onto her back.

"Thank you for everything Tilly," Emily started walking down the path. It looked dark and unused, but behind it laid freedom. Emily turned around and waved to Matilda, "I'll be sure to write, and when I'm rich and successful I will send you money and who knows, maybe I can return home someday. Until then, farewell."

"Goodbye Emily," Matilda said to herself, and began to walk home.

…

Emily paced up and down the docks, waiting impatiently to board the large wooden ship that would take her to her new life. It was stopping in Nova Scotia, Canada, and Queenstown, Ireland, but would eventually finish in Bristol, England, and that was where she wanted to go. Emily had decided that she wanted to go to England and make her fortune there. She'd also promised herself to do it honestly. No stealing, no poaching, no crime. But habits are hard to break and Emily wondered if she was strong enough to survive in a strange country. She started nervously playing with the skirt of her long dark dress.  
Emily always wore the same dress, a long dark, pretty plain looking one that covered most of her skin. She had bright blue eyes and dirty blonde hair, tied up neatly out of the way. She was quite envious of Matilda's looks. Her red dress complimented her wavy blonde hair and blue-purple eyes beautifully. And her glasses made Matilda appear smarter than she already was.

"Are you alright miss?" asked a passing sailor, "We're getting ready to board now so can you please make your way onto the ship. The gangplank's over there," he pointed in the general direction of the ship, who Emily noticed was called _'The Adventure'_. A fitting name for someone going on their own adventure, Emily thought to herself. She thanked the sailor and began walking towards _The Adventure_.

"Hold on a sec' miss," the sailor called out to her. Emily paused and began to panic. _Oh no, _she thought, _He's recognised me! But how? Are there wanted posters already? Do they give out wanted posters for mere escaped thieves?_

"What would your name be? You have a very pretty face," Emily breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't been discovered.  
She couldn't answer with her real name, so Emily had made up a new name for herself the night before, as there was little else to do, a new name to go with her new life.

"Oh, I'm Amelia F. Jones," she smiled at the sailor, who nodded.

"I'm James," then he walked away. Amelia smiled to herself. She loved her new name. Amelia was the name of a girl in her old town, and she'd always liked the name. Jones was her mama's maiden name and F? Well that stood for freedom. If Amelia was going to change her name, she was going to change it to something more... her.

…

Amelia stood on the deck, looking back at her homeland, America, the new world. She watched until it was just a line in the distance, crying to herself.

As she stood there she wondered what the future would hold for her, would she ever see her family again? She thought of Papa, Matilda and the little ones and hoped her sisters were safe. Then the cold wind and rain told Amelia it was time to go below deck.

…

Human names:

Emily/Amelia- America

Matilda- Canada

Francis- France

Marianne- Monaco

Michelle- Seychelles


	2. Temptation

"Thank you," Amelia jumped down from the carriage and nodded to the driver, passing him a small farthing. The driver nodded in return then flicked the reins and the horses began to move. Amelia felt the weight of the money bag in her boot; it was lighter than when she set off. On the ship Amelia had opened her bag to find more money, enough to see her for a few weeks when she got to England. Amelia was touched by the act as it would've cost Matilda and Papa dearly to provide so much for her. Amelia made a promise there and then to send as much money as she could to her family, to make up for the trouble she was causing them. She hoped they weren't being punished by the law, who would have no doubts about whom it was that freed her; her family were the only ones who liked her at all.

Amelia looked at where she'd been dropped off. It was late evening and she found it hard to see in the dim light. The girl found herself standing outside a run down tavern at the side of the road. The road itself was in the middle of the woods, a dingy dirt track just like the ones she'd been travelling on for the past few weeks ever since arriving in Bristol.

After months at sea, Amelia had hoped to find a job in the city. She presumed that, being a woman, she'd be cheaper to employ than a man as she would be paid less. It wasn't nice, but that's how things are. But when she got to Bristol, Amelia couldn't find employment anywhere. All the jobs were taken by people who had moved from the countryside after the enclosure acts and the building of machines that took jobs away from farmers.

So Amelia had been forced to travel. Hitchhiking and walking along dangerous roads alone, she spent the next few weeks travelling across the English countryside hoping to get to London, where there were plenty of factories to employ her. Or failing that, she could work in a shop, or a mill, anything.

She guessed that, by now, she was somewhere in Oxfordshire, so pretty close to London. She might even reach the city in a few days. With that hopeful thought, Amelia strode into the tavern.

The tavern was small and dark inside, crowded with men nursing flagons of ale, all with bloodshot eyes and hunched backs. She walked across the room, trying to ignore the stares she was getting, and leaned against the bar, waiting for the bartender to finish serving a large man with a scraggly beard.

He eventually finished and walked over to Amelia, taking large heavy strides and his bald head shone with sweat in the candlelight.

"What do you want?" he grunted, wiping a glass clean with a rag as he spoke.

"Err, I'd like a room for the night please," Amelia had gone through the same routine most evenings, go into a dingy tavern and ask the intimidating bartender for a room. Time and practice didn't make things any easier and Amelia still found herself terrified at the thought of entering the dodgy, dark houses. But a room and bed was better than sleeping at the side of the road, only just though.

"It'll cost ya a penny," the bartender told her. Amelia handed over a coin and the bartender showed her to the hallway, a kindly, plump lady was standing there smiling as she folded sheets into a basket. She looked up when she heard the other two entering and smiled widely at them.

"Room five," the bartender told the woman, nodding at Amelia, "Show her up will ya Margret."

Margret nodded and began walking up the stairs; Amelia followed her up to a small corridor, along the corridor to a wooden door with a metal '5' nailed to it. Margret opened the door, allowed Amelia to see inside and told her if there was anything she needed, she should ask her or James, the bartender, said goodbye and left.

Amelia looked around her room. It was small and dark. A rough rug thrown on wooden floorboards, a rickety table and a sorry looking bed with thin blankets. Same as always. Amelia placed her bag on the floor and lay down on her bed. Ever since she'd boarded that boat, Amelia had felt somewhat, empty. No matter how much she tried to be hopeful she felt like a part of her life was missing, and not just her family.

She needed to go hunting.

And she was going hunting tonight.


	3. Terror

Amelia crept along the wooden floorboards; the tavern was noisy with drunken chatter and no one noticed as she slipped out of the back door into the stables. Then round to the front of the building. Walking across the stone floor, she began to feel homesick again.

Back home the family had owned a horse, a large old thing called Pierre who her father used to plough the fields every year. When Amelia was little, she and Matilda would ride the horse everywhere together, Matilda holding the reins, Amelia, well, Emily back then, holding Matilda tightly, afraid she'd fall off. Of course, Matilda never let that happen. When Marianne and Michelle were born, the four girls would spend whole afternoons trotting through fields and woods, small enough so that all four could ride him at once.

Amelia shook these memories out of her head and walked around the side of the tavern, out onto the road and turned left. Keeping close to the edge, she began walking, quietly and calmly. It was around eight in the evening and Amelia knew she had a few hours before the tavern closed up for the night, so she had enough time to put some distance between herself and the tavern.

The sun had already set as she made her way along the quiet dirt road, the trees either side of her creating ominous black shadows. Amelia walked quickly and soon left the lights of the tavern behind her, leaving only the moon as a guide. Amelia didn't mind the dark, as she often hunted and travelled at night back home, but it was different in a strange land, she didn't know where was safe and which areas were full of robbers and thieves.

She'd been walking for half an hour when Amelia decided she'd travelled far enough to enter the woods at the side of the road. It was then that she saw something slowly move in the trees ahead of her.

A lone figure on horseback walked into the middle of the road a few metres ahead of her. Amelia couldn't see their face as their hat cast shadows on it. They wore a dark cloak and all Amelia could see of their outfit was a worn boot sticking out the bottom.

A highwayman.

Amelia had heard of the roadside criminals who robbed travellers, often at gunpoint, leaving their victims with nothing but the clothes on their backs. Sometime they took those too.

"Halt!" cried the figure. From his voice Amelia knew he was a man. The figure held out his hand, palm up. "Your money!" he commanded.

Amelia walked towards him with a small pouch in her hand, containing only a few pennies, the rest of her money hidden in her boots, a common trick people used to fool highwayman so they would not walk away empty handed.

The man snatched her money out of her hand and she looked closely at his face. He was wearing a mask that covered the area around his eyes. The eyes themselves were bright green. A small scar peeked out from under his mask and short, roughly chopped blond hair covered his forehead. His cheeks had mud plastered on them, to try to hide his face.

The highwayman saw her looking at him and glared.

"Lower your gaze!" he commanded, "And give me your money. _All of it!_"

Amelia felt cold. "That's all I have!" she cried.

"I'm not a fool," the highwayman held a gun to her head, "Give. Me. Your. _Money_."

Amelia cursed herself for not leaving her bag of coins in her room (but then again, it would probably be stolen there too) and took it out of her boot. She threw it at him and he caught it in one hand.

"Good girl,' he purred, "now, I think I'll take that lovely dagger of yours too." His gaze fell on the knife in her hand and Amelia held it close to her chest.

"You can't have it!" she cried, "it's special to me."

"What about your life?" inquired the highwayman, "I would assume that's not too important to you, considering the fact that you're not doing as I say."

Amelia wondered how far she would get if she stabbed him and ran. She could kill a deer no problem, but a fully grown man? There was a huge chance that she'd miss and he'd kill her in a heartbeat.

"Fine," she handed the knife to him, "I hope you rot in hell you disgusting pig."

"I know," the highwayman shook his head, "and I don't care. You may be on your way now."

Amelia turned and fled, not slowing until she reached the tavern. She ran to her room, slammed the door shut, threw herself on her bed and started sobbing to herself. She had no money for food and shelter and no weapon.

Now what was she supposed to do?

…

Yes, this story is actually being updated! I promise updates will be more frequent as it makes me feel more clever and professional when I'm juggling several stories at once.

Now, about this story. It's an englandxfem!america one and set in the 1720s/30s, so the Georgian era. I should probably give the warnings now too: there will be some violence, death, major character death and swearing. You have been warned.

I got the idea for this story by listening to the Dick Turpin song from horrible histories and from reading highway girl by Valerie Wilding. And finally, I've gone back over the past two chapters and edited them, so you might want to read those too.


	4. Uneasy alliance

The next morning, Amelia wandered downstairs having packed her bag with what she had left and tidied the room. She still didn't know what she was going to do; it was too far to London to walk and she had no money for travel and shelter.

As she entered the main room in the tavern, already filled with men drinking, Amelia decided to ask the barkeep for advice. Maybe Margret could help; she had seemed friendly and kind. She walked to the bar and sat on a stool, fixing her messy hair and smoothing down her dress. As the bartender was busy at the moment, Amelia sat patiently, glancing at the people around her. She looked at the man on her right, and nearly fell off her stool.

It was the same bastard who'd stolen her money.

She recognised the messy crop of short blond hair, the bright green eyes and little scar as those belonging to the highwayman who'd forced her to part with her precious knife, all she had left to remind her of her old life and family.

'Can I help you?' he asked gruffly, noticing her staring at him, but not recognising her, 'want me to buy you a drink or something, darling?'

'That would be nice,' Amelia smile sweetly at him, 'I appear to have lost all my money.'

'Really?' his face remained impassive.

'Yes,' Amelia gave a fake sob, 'what's a poor girl to do?'

'Get a job,' he suggested, turning back to his own drink, 'or get married.'

'Unlike you,' muttered Amelia.

'Excuse me?' the man raised a bushy eyebrow.

Amelia leaned in close to him until her lips were inches from his ear, 'I know who you are, and if you don't help me out, I will shout it out to everyone in the room.'

The man paled considerably and his eyes widened in horror.

'I assume you've robbed many a traveller of their worldly possessions,' Amelia grinned, 'what would these men say if they knew the man who'd terrorised these parts was sitting in the same room as them? You wouldn't make it back home. I hope you don't mind a period in the gallows for your trouble,' Amelia knew she was milking it a bit, but it seemed to be working.

'What do you require?' he demanded, glaring at her with eyes full of hate.

'Someone to take me safely to London,'

The man shook his head, 'I cannot do that. It's just not possible for me to do that. Is there any way I can appease you without travelling too far?'

Amelia looked at his face and saw… fear? What did he have to be afraid of in London? Did he owe money? 'Well, you've robbed me of everything I need to get by, it's your fault I cannot survive on my own so that would make me your responsibility, in a way,' she sighed, 'find me somewhere to stay for a while, until I get back on my feet.'

'Well there's nowhere I know that would let you stay for free,' the man shrugged, 'cept the poorhouse, but you do not want to end up there,' he thought for a moment, then his face broke into a smile, 'how about my place? You can stay there; it's small but all right.'

Amelia wasn't too keen on that idea, but what choice did she have?

'I accept,' she held out a hand, 'Amelia F. Jones, by the way.'

He took her head, smiling sweetly, 'Arthur Kirkland.'

'Nice to meet you,' Amelia's smile was forced.

'Likewise,' Arthur's smile was just as forced, 'here, allow me to take your bag.'

'Well you've taken everything else,' muttered Amelia.

'Apologies,' Arthur took her travelling bag, 'so let me make it up to you,' he stood up and made for the door, Amelia following, 'my horse is out in the stable.'

'That's nice,' Amelia walked outside to find Arthur attaching her bag to the saddle of a chestnut-brown mare.

'This is Elizabeth,' he told her, 'hop on. Get on with ya.'

'Fine,' Amelia sniffed, 'no need to snap at me,' she climbed onto the horse and sat side-saddle, like the lady her papa had raised her to be. She glanced at Arthur, who climbed on behind her and took the reigns, arms either side of Amelia, trapping her on the horse. He seemed annoyed, and slightly disappointed. Had he thought she'd be too stupid and girly to know about horses? Had he thought she'd be scared of the thing? Amelia couldn't help but feel a little smug that she'd robbed him of that at least.

'So how long until we get there?' she asked.

Arthur grinned, 'it's nearly a day's worth of travelling.'

…

The sun was sinking below the sky when the pair reached a run down wooden hut in the middle of the woods.

'Home sweet home,' exclaimed Arthur, dismounting and offering a hand to Amelia, which was ignored. Undeterred, Arthur untied the bag and made his way towards what Amelia considered little more than a shack. Back home, she and her family lived in a log cabin, small, but cosy and sturdy. The whole town had helped her papa and mama build it when they got married, her mama already pregnant with Matilda. Compared with the warmth and love in her old home, this place appeared cold and empty. By her standards, this hut was not fit for an animal to live in, let alone a human being, regardless of how much of a lowlife he was.

Arthur held the door open for her, and Amelia was greeted with an even worse sight. The place was divided into two rooms by a grubby curtain pulled around one corner near the end of the room. There was a wooden table filled with dirty pots, pans, plates and cutlery, along with leftover food. The floor was so dusty Amelia couldn't tell what colour it was underneath and the windows were almost opaque with grime. The bust settee was stained and covered in boxes and bags, probably full of stolen goods. How could anyone stand to live here?

As Amelia attempted to get over her shock, unknown to her, Arthur pulled a gun from his coat and aimed it at her head.

…

Dun dun dun? Yup, another chapter. Please tell me what you think of it.


	5. A killer's heart?

Arthur could feel his hand shake as he pointed the gun at young Amelia. Never before had it been so hard for him to pull the trigger on someone, be it in self defence or to silence them. Maybe he felt a hint of guilt and shame at the fact that her back was turned, or was the blood on his hands already too much for one man to bear? Arthur hadn't been born a killer, no man was, and until a few years ago couldn't even contemplate living a life like this, one of a ruthless murderer. Besides, there was always the possibility of_ him_ waking and seeing another dead body…

'Say, how about a new deal?' Amelia offered, turning around. Arthur quickly hid the gun behind his back and smiled innocently.

'Oh?' he questioned, 'do tell.'

'Well, I have to say this place is mighty grubby and, quite frankly, not fit for a pig, even a pig like you,' Amelia wrinkled her nose as she glanced around the place, 'how about you let me stay here and in return I'll clean it up a bit,' she glanced disdainfully at the dirty pots full of stale, burnt food, 'I'll even cook for ya; how does that sound?'

Arthur blinked in surprise and considered the offer. How dare she indicate he was a terrible cook! Then again, his old lifestyle hardly called for being able to fend for himself or others and he was still getting used to life without servants, or any adult company for that matter. Maybe having the girl around would be useful. Arthur had to admit, he'd let the place go to ruin and it could do some good to have a mother figure around once more…

'I accept your proposal,' he formally told her, extending his hand, the one not holding a gun, and shook hers.

'Lovely,' Amelia gave a sweet, but strained, smile, 'so may I have my knife back?'

Arthur laughed harshly, 'I don't trust you yet; I hardly think giving you a weapon is a good idea. You seem like the kind of wench to kill a man when he is asleep or drunk.'

'I see,' Amelia sighed, 'well, I guess I should prepare dinner then?'

'That would be nice,'

'If you need me I'll be in the woods,' Amelia strode out of the door before Arthur could reply and had a series of small traps set up within the hour. Her papa had taught all of his daughters to construct basic traps out of sticks and string to catch small animals. To busy herself as she waited, Amelia collected water from a pump outside the house and left it to boil over the fire. The sun had set by the time she'd found a rabbit in one of the traps and took it home for dinner, deciding to check the other traps in the morning.

'Got something,' she cried, holding the dead rabbit up by it's back legs and brushed plates and bowls aside on the table to make space to prepare a stew, 'would you mind peeling some vegetables?'

Arthur, who was sitting on a chair reading a battered old book, feet resting on the table, laughed heartily, 'vegetables are for the poor!' he cried.

Amelia raised an eyebrow, 'and what do you think you are?'

The smile faded from Arthur's face and he nodded, 'yes… of course.'

Amelia stared at him for a moment before shaking her head and returning to her preparations.

…

'Okay, you _must_ have a knowledge of witchcraft and sorcery!' insisted Arthur, stuffing another spoonful of rabbit stew into his mouth, 'there is no way a human could cook something this good without magic!'

Amelia laughed, sitting next to him on the settee with her own bowl, 'oh no, just an ability to cook. My papa is a top chef and he taught my sisters and I all he knows.'

'Sisters, eh?' Arthur raised a busy eyebrow and grinned.

'Don't even think about it,' growled Amelia.

'Fine,' Arthur grumbled, 'so what sort of family are they? Do you get on at all?'

'I am one of four sisters,' Amelia began, 'Matilda, my older one, and two younger ones, Marianne and Michelle. We were raised by our papa, Francis, after our mama died when Michelle was a baby. I travelled here from America after running into some trouble.'

'America?' Arthur whistled, 'I thought you had an exotic accent. Then new world? Blimey. So what kind of trouble did you run into, if you do not mind me asking?'

'It's fine,' Amelia shrugged, 'got caught hunting illegally and was sentenced to death by hanging. Tilly got me out and I fled here. Lord only knows what happened to my family when the law found out I was gone. I do hope they're still alive and well.'

'Of course they are,' Arthur insisted, 'they didn't do anything wrong and the law cannot prove it was them what done it.'

'Thank you,' Amelia sniffed, wiping her nose with her sleeve, 'so do you have family?'

Arthur's eyes appeared to glass over for just an instant, then he shook his head and stood up, 'that is a tale for another time. If you'll excuse me, I have… err, business to attend to.' And with that, he put his bowl on the table, donned his black cloak and hat and walked out the front door.

…

Hey they're getting along! Kinda. And yes, Arthur's past will be explained all in good time. Is everyone enjoying the story so far? Please give any advice you can, you know, so I can avoid my story becoming crap.


	6. Responsibility

The sound of moving feet and a fire crackling woke Amelia up from her peaceful sleep on the settee under a thin blanket. She opened one eye to find Arthur, still dressed in his dark highwayman clothes, cape, hat and everything, warming up the leftover stew still in the pot.

'Oh, you're back?' she lifted her head up off the battered old cushion she was using as a pillow. It was late, well after midnight, and Amelia wondered where he'd been. Of course, judging by his clothes, he'd probably been out robbing. But why come back this late? No one was on the roads after ten o'clock so there was no point in being out. Was he out drinking again?

Arthur jumped slightly and turned to face her, wooden bowl in hand, 'oh, hello,' he whispered, 'just getting a snack.'

'Need any help?' Amelia sat up and fiddled with the blanket, trying to untangle it from her dress so she could stand up.

'No no,' Arthur chuckled nervously, 'go back to sleep; I can manage to warm up a bit of stew thank you.'

Amelia shrugged and once more she was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

…

The next morning, Amelia woke up, stretched, stood up and went over to the table, picking her way between piles of firewood, hay and boxes, and sat down on one of the rickety chairs. She yawned, nodded a hello at the small boy in front of her, patted her messy hair down and wait… small boy?

Amelia blinked several times and stared at a little boy of about twelve sitting across the table from her eating a chunk of grainy, brown bread. He waved and grinned at her. The child had a mop of messy, dirty blond hair, dark blue eyes and bushy eyebrows. He wore a ruffled shirt, waistcoat and trousers tucked into long white socks. His outfit was one of a rich child, but was old, messy, and badly in need of repairing.

Amelia shook her head, 'why Arthur, it appears you shrunk during the night.'

The boy laughed, 'I'm not Arthur; I'm his little brother, Peter.'

Amelia rubbed her eyes, realising she was not fully awake, and stared at the boy again. Upon closer inspection, she found that the boy was quite different from Arthur, though the two shared enough physical features for her to tell that they were, indeed, related.

'Oh? Why didn't I see you yesterday?' she asked.

'I was asleep,' Peter pointed to the curtain, now pulled back to reveal a tiny, unmade, bed, 'Arthur says I have to rest lots because I'm sick.'

'You poor thing,' Amelia soothed, 'what's wrong with you?'

'Don't know,' Peter frowned, 'Arthur don't know much about doctorin' and all he knows is that I'm too skinny and always tired.'

'I see,' Amelia gave a sympathetic smile, 'maybe I can help you get better. My mother taught my sisters and me some things about medicine when I was little.'

'Really?' Peter grinned, 'are you going to be my new mummy?'

'Well I doubt…' Peter's face fell and Amelia sighed, 'yes, I'm your new mummy.'

'Yes,' Peter grinned once more, 'I hope you're better at cooking than Arthur.'

Amelia laughed, 'don't worry. I probably am, judging by what I've seen and heard. How about some stew to prove I am an excellent chef?'

'I'd love some,'

Amelia chuckled and picked up an empty bowl, stood up and peered into the cooking pot… and groaned. What little stew was left was burnt into the pot, black, charred and inedible. It would be a nightmare to clean and meant there was no food for Peter, who looked in desperate need of feeding.

'That ass,' she spat, 'sorry Peter, I think your brother burnt the stew when he tried to reheat it last night.'

Peter groaned, then chuckled, 'he does that a lot because he's used to servants making food for him so he never learnt to cook for himself.'

'You used to have servants?' Amelia raised an eyebrow, 'how did you both come to live here on your own then?'

Peter nodded, ' Arthur probably doesn't want me telling you about that.'

'And where is Arthur?' inquired Amelia, 'I wouldn't mind having a word with him about how to reheat food properly.'

'Out,' Peter shrugged, 'always out.'

Amelia sighed, 'well, then I guess it's up to me to provide you with more food, and to get the place cleaned fit enough for a child to live,' she looked at the little boy evenly, 'want to help me?'

'Yes please!'

…


	7. Wasting away

Peter watched in awe as Amelia fashioned a broom from a large stick she'd found outside and a handful of the horse's hay before setting about sweeping the floor. She picked up the boy, who was apparently too exhausted to walk, and set him on the settee so he could watch her clean the place in interest. Amelia was surprised to find that the floor was actually made up of stone slabs; she'd thought it was earth all the way through with no foundations as the thing was so dirty. After that, she cleaned the windows, light beaming through the glass for the first time on months, according to Peter, and the table then filled the large cooking pot with water, leaving the dishes to soak in it whilst she checked the traps for anything to eat.

On her trek through the woods, she found two rabbits caught in her traps and took them back for Peter. After skinning and gutting them, Amelia salted one down for another day, explaining to Peter it was to keep it from going bad when it was stored, and lit a fire to roast the other, which would hopefully be cooked by the time Arthur came home.

'So where is your brother?' she asked the little boy, taking a break and sitting on the settee beside him.

'Oh probably travelling someplace away from where he's been robbing for the last few nights,' explained Peter, 'he cannot rob the same road two nights in a row, or at least not at the same point, that would make it too easy for the law to get him, see? Either that or he's selling the stuff he steals in a market or at a tavern, to make money for us.'

'Oh? And what does he use the money for?' enquired Amelia

'He's saving up enough to get us safely to Scotland,' answered Peter.

'Why Scotland?'

'That's where our other brothers are,' Peter sighed, 'I haven't seen them in two years. See, we used to be really rich and our parents owned a big manor with acres of gardens and hundreds of servants to keep the place running and do what we told them to. I always had toys and food and loads of older brothers to play with and was happy for most of my life, not really having any cares or worries. But then a few years ago there was a big fire and our parents, along with most of our servants, burned to death. My brothers were out hunting or drinking, I can't remember which- probably both- and were safe, but too far away to help us. I only got out alive because my maid was able to climb out of my nursery window and save us both. When my brothers returned they gave most of the money they had left to my maid as a token of gratitude for saving me, seeing as they would have to leave and she'd have nowhere to work, and made plans to leave. We had no relatives and our fortune and inheritance was gone. My oldest brother was twenty-five and it was up to him to look after us, but we all missed our parents too much to think about what to do next. Eventually we made plans to go to Scotland and start a new life there far away from all the bad memories.'

'I see,' murmured Amelia, 'you poor thing. I'm sorry for your loss.'

'Thank you,' mumbled Peter, 'but it wasn't your fault. We never found out whose fault the fire was seeing as everyone else who'd been there had died and my maid was too busy trying to escape to find out trivial things like that.'

'So why didn't you and Arthur go to Scotland with your other brothers?' asked Amelia.

'I became really ill,' Peter continued, 'my diet and lifestyle had changed suddenly and my body couldn't cope with sleeping outside or in dirty taverns and eating Arthur's cooking or dodgy tavern food every day. I lost loads of weight and my hair and skin went a funny colour and my hair even started falling out. I was really tired and dizzy all the time then my arms and tummy started disappearing,' he whimpered slightly, 'moving became really painful too. My brothers became really worried and didn't want me travelling all the way to Scotland in this state and I heard them talking when they thought I was asleep saying that I would die on the journey if they tried to move me. We had to set up a new life, and everyone wanted to stick to the plan so desperately but they also wanted to keep me well so Arthur said he'd stay and help me get better while the others set up a new home for us all and we'd join them when I was better,' Peter looked away, bottom lip quivering, 'but I'm still not better. I started getting fatter again a few weeks ago and Arthur and I were so happy because we thought it meant I was getting better. But I just swelled up a little and now I'm worse. I am going to die, aren't I?'

'Of course not!' exclaimed Amelia, 'God can't let an adorable little child like you die! I'll get you better, I promise,' she leaned over and gave the boy a hug, 'you'll grow up to be a big strong lad like your brothers!'

'Really?' Peter looked up at her, hope in his dull, sunken eyes.

'Really,' Amelia assured him. The sight of how little Peter was broke her heart. The kid's skin was papery and a pale, yellowy colour and his body was skeletal in some places, swollen in others. She vowed to do everything in her power to get the child healthy again and be a good mother.

'Well, I have to get to work making the place nice,' she told him, 'would you like something to eat?'

Peter nodded and she prepared a plate of bread and chopped carrots along with a cup of water, 'it's all I got,' she said, 'but it's better than nothing.'

Peter took the plate and his nose wrinkled at the sight of carrots, 'Arthur told me vegetables were bad for you.'

'Nonsense,' scoffed Amelia, 'you know sailors eat lots of fruit and vegetables to keep away illness? I learnt that on the ship from America.'

'You've been to America?' asked Peter in awe, 'that's amazing!'

'Been there? I'm _from_ there,' said Amelia, grinning.

'Wow what's it like there?'

'How about I tell you as I work?' suggested Amelia.

'Great!'

Amelia removed the blankets and washed them in a large tub she found in a corner whilst she told Peter all about life in America and her family. She answered his questions the best she could and related tales of the mischief her and her sisters used to get up to, causing him to laugh at her impressions and stories. She then began scrubbing the mattress so he'd have somewhere clean to sleep then took his clothes to wash too, leaving Peter in his long underwear and a large coat she found that was too big for the twelve-year-old but kept him warm and snug. She cleaned the clothes and blankets and carried him outside for fresh air, setting him on an upturned barrel whilst she hung the washing on a line fashioned from some string she'd found and a pair of trees the perfect distance apart.

When it began to get dark again, she carried Peter inside and set him on the mattress whilst she washed the settee and took the rabbit off the fire, now roasted nicely. Arthur still wasn't home, so she set two clean plates on the now spotless table and cut enough meat for Peter and herself. After saying grace, the pair ate in silence, shattered from a day of hard work and talking.

'Thank you Miss Jones,' said Peter politely when he was halfway through, this is lovely.'

'Oh it's alright,' Amelia shrugged, 'and you can just call me Amelia. We're friends, after all.'

'But Arthur calls his friends Mr or Miss,' argued Peter, 'he says it's polite and gentlemanly.'

'Well robbing's hardly polite and gentlemanly,' Amelia pointed out, 'but if it makes you happy then Miss Jones is perfectly fine.'

'What about mother?' asked Peter, 'may I call you mother?'

Amelia tried to process what Peter had said, trying to work out which answer she should give. It was a bit too soon for her to think of the boy as her own child but Amelia didn't have an opportunity to reply as Peter suddenly lurched, covering his mouth. Amelia jumped up as he suddenly keeled over and threw up on the floor.

'Mummy help!' he cried, and Amelia rushed over, rubbing his back and soothing him as another wave of sick came up, followed by more and more.

'It's okay baby,' she told him, though she was almost as terrified as he was, 'just let it all out.'

'Evening everyone,' Arthur walked in, saw what was going on and cried out, rushing to his little brother's side, 'Peter, what's wrong?'

'I don't know,' sobbed Amelia, 'we were eating and he suddenly started being sick.'

'What did you feed him?' demanded Arthur.

'Just some meat,' Arthur didn't reply, too focused on trying to calm his little brother.

Peter eventually stopped vomiting, breathing heavily and crying, too ashamed and scared to look at anyone, 'what's wrong with me?' he asked.

'I don't know,' Arthur admitted.

'Maybe it was the food,' suggested Amelia, 'when was the last time you ate meat?'

'I don't know,' Peter clung to Amelia's dress, shivering, 'I usually throw Arthur's dinners away so I have trouble remembering what I eat.'

'You've not been eating your meals?' Amelia groaned, 'that's what's wrong with you! You've not been eating properly, Peter. You body needs lots of good foods to stay well and eating meat suddenly must've upset your stomach.'

'I'm sorry,' Peter sniffed, tears rolling down his cheeks.

'Hey, it's fine,' soothed Arthur, 'now we know what the problem is, we can help you.'

'Yeah,' Amelia fetched a damp cloth and began wiping Peter's face, 'and no more rich foods for a while. Maybe just broth to start with, and a few vegetables too.'

'Of course, mummy,'

Amelia flinched slightly, still not used to the name, but said nothing about it, not wanting to upset Peter further.

'I'll get your clothes and blankets,' she told him, 'then we'll get you dressed and all warm in bed, sound good?'

Peter nodded and she rushed outside, distracting herself from her guilt by folding sheets and clothes, placing them into a basket she was using for washing. Amelia didn't notice Arthur following her outside.

'…Peter's resting on the settee,' he began, 'and I've cleared up the mess for you.' Amelia jumped and wheeled round.

'Look, I am so, so sorry about what happened,' she exclaimed, 'if I'd have known his body would react like that I wouldn't have fed-'

'Hey it's fine,' he assured her, 'you didn't know, no one knew. I would say it's my fault for leaving you with him without warning. In fact, I should be thanking you for all the work you've done,' he smiled sheepishly and took the basket, 'here, you've done enough, let me take it.'

'I see there's still a noble gentleman somewhere in you,' Amelia commented.

'Excuse me?'

'Peter told me your story,' she clarified.

'Oh, I see,' Arthur sighed, 'I believe it explains to you why I am so useless at caring for the child, seeing as I've been raised by servants in luxury. Thank you for making the place a home for Peter; I wouldn't know where to start when it comes to cleaning or cooking.'

'I figured that much,'

Arthur chuckled, leading Amelia back inside, 'you're doing a good job, okay? Don't put yourself down, remember that. Maybe you would be a fitting mother for Peter.'

Amelia winced, wondering, not for the first time, if she was doing the right thing.

…

For those of you wondering, Peter's showing symptoms of malnutrition.

Sorry for not updating for ages, hope you still like this story.

It's kinda hard to write Peter in this, cause he's educated, but still a little kid so his speech is a mix of formal and polite, and casual.

Sorry if this chapter's a little off, I'm feeling really ill, so ill I'm not even sure if I wrote this at all.


	8. Thrill and glamour

'_You think life is one big antic, my profession is ROMANTIC_

_Hate to be pedantic, but it ain't.'_

…

'There you go baby,' Amelia spooned another helping of watery vegetable broth into Peter's mouth, allowing him time to chew before loading the next spoonful. The pair were sitting at the dining table, cautiously making their way through a simple dinner. All dinners were to be simple for the foreseeable future, lest any rich food were to upset Peter's stomach again.

'This is lovely,' he mumbled, 'thank you mummy.'

Amelia had no choice but to let him call her that now; he'd not listened when she told him to stop calling her that the previous evening and the whole of today, and he was just too adorable to get mad at. Besides, she'd been called worse.

'Hey it's no problem, sweetie,' she cooed, feeding him another mouthful of broth, 'now eat all this up and you'll become big and strong, like your brother.' The brother in question was set to be returning home soon, after an evening of lurking in the woods next to the road, preying on weary travellers and, with any luck, rich nobles in coaches loaded with gold and coins. Peter laughed, letting her wipe his mouth with a cloth when he'd finished.

'Now come along,' she told him, 'it's time for bed.'

'Aww, can I not wait for Arthur to come home?' he pleaded, staring at her with wide eyes, lip quivering.

'Oh I don't see why not,' Amelia laughed, 'but after that it's straight to sleep.'

'I promise,'

Amelia distracted Peter by telling him an old fairytale her papa used to tell her, snuggled up on the settee under an itchy blanket. When Arthur eventually arrived home, Peter was already asleep, too tired to wait up for him.

'I hope he wasn't too much trouble,' whispered Arthur, scooping the sleeping child up and tucking him into his bed. The boy had once again sat on the settee watching Amelia clean the house, which was becoming more and more homely.

'Not at all,' replied Amelia. Arthur chuckled, removing his cloak, feathered hat and mask, hanging them from the back of one of the chairs.

'I just have to feed Lizzie,' he told her, going back outside. Amelia nodded, sitting in silence for a few minutes thinking about her new life. She was very fond of Peter, despite knowing him for only two days now, and even Arthur was growing on her, slowly. When he was actually around, he was the perfect gentleman, any dislike he held for her now evaporated with every promise to bring Peter back to full health. The three of them, Amelia believed, would probably end up being a little family unit, facing the challenges of the world together. Until the Kirkland brothers left for Scotland, that is. Amelia wondered what would happen to her then. Of course, if they asked her to travel with them, then she would accept in a heartbeat. Why not? What else could she do? Failing that, she could always make her way to London, like she'd originally planned. But after this new hope of people caring for and needing her, Amelia was reluctant to spend the rest of her life slaving away in some factory or mill. Maybe if she did more to help they'd accept her as a family member. With that thought in mind, Amelia stood up and crept outside to find Arthur. There was something else that had been bugging her too.

Amelia watched Arthur silently for a few moments as he fed Elizabeth from a bag of oats next to him, patting her shiny chestnut fur and black mane. He spoke softly to the horse, stroking her face before tying her reigns to a nearby tree. He wasn't wrapped up in dark clothes any more, just a simple ruffled shirt, brown leather boots and black breeches. His highwayman clothes were stowed inside the house, along with his tough demeanour. Now he was just Arthur Kirkland, a man with his horse.

'And I help you?' he asked, noticing Amelia.

'Well, yes, if you don't mind,' Amelia took a couple of steps forward, 'there's something I'd like to discuss with you.'

'And that would be?' he raised a bushy eyebrow, leaning against a tree.

'Well, I'm fascinated by the life you lead,' she began, 'I'm sure life as a highwayman is thrilling.'

'It has its moments,' Arthur agreed, 'you know, aside from the danger of execution, self-loathing that comes when you commit crimes and sins and the fact that a horse's saddle is hardly a plush settee.'

'But it must be grand,' pushed Amelia, 'to dress mysteriously and take up such a glamorous and sensational profession.'

'Glamorous and sensational?' scoffed Arthur, 'hardly! I'm a vicious criminal, Amelia F. Jones, remember that. You see the scar on my face? I got that on one of my first robberies. It turns out not everyone is scared out of their wits when faced with highwaymen and one gentleman took out a knife to defend himself, and left his mark.'

'What happened then?' asked Amelia, 'how did you escape?'

'Simple,' Arthur took a few steps forward and leaned over so his face was inches from Amelia's, 'I took my gun and shot him, right in front of his wife.'

'Oh my,' breathed Amelia, taking a step backwards, 'what a terrible thing to do!'

'Terrible? It was self defence,' Arthur sighed, 'I kill people, Jones; it's the price that comes with this profession. I remember every time I've shot someone down or run them through with a sword. Twenty men, to be precise, twenty men I've sent to hell. I don't like any more than you do, but it's either I die or they die.'

'But you still do it.'

'To provide for my brother!'

'I see,' Amelia sighed, 'and I am perfectly sure you care about him but, well, you're never really there for him, are you? I mean,' she added quickly at Arthur's facial expression, 'the child misses his older brother. Would it kill you to take a day off every now and again?'

'But I'm so close to having enough money to get to Scotland,' Arthur's voice was shaking, 'Peter's managed for two years; surely a few more weeks wouldn't hurt.'

'So you get to Scotland, then what?' Amelia put her hands on her hips, 'you'll be rich again and out hunting and going to fancy balls while Peter's taught sums by a governess or nanny. Life's too short to just keep waiting around and asking people to be patient.'

'So what do you propose then?' Arthur raised an eyebrow, 'that I take tomorrow off and play happy families with you and Peter? That I just never go outside to make money and provide for you all?'

'Not at all,' Amelia waved a hand dismissively, 'all I propose is that you teach me the ways of stagecoach robbery.'

'Excuse me?'

'I become a highwayman- well, highway girl- too,' Amelia grinned, 'it's simple, it means you can spend more time with your brother and there'll still be money coming in. Heck, maybe even some nights we can both go out and rob on different roads, bringing in double.'

'And what makes you think a little girl like you could do something that dangerous?'

'Excuse me?' Amelia folded her arms, glaring, 'I'm not a little girl, Mr fancy-cloak with your massive eyebrows! I can throw knives, and swords are just big knives, right?'

'Please don't start throwing swords around,' implored Arthur exasperatingly.

'Either way,' Amelia shrugged, 'I'm sure I can manage. I'm short, but quite stocky, so on a horse I'll look pretty intimidating. I'm strong too. My hair is pretty short, so that can easily be tidied away in a ponytail. No one will know I'm a girl! No one will even suspect a female of highway robbery. I have to say, you were all too easy to recognise. You have too many distinctive facial features.'

'I… guess you have a point,' Arthur sighed, 'fine, you can be my, for want of a better word, apprentice. But,' he added, pointing a finger at her, 'I must have your word that you'll do what I say. Trust me when I tell you what you're getting into is dangerous.'

'You have my word,' Amelia shook his hand, 'and I'm perfectly acquainted with danger, thank you.'

…

Yes, the quotation at the top is from the Dick Turpin song… I thought it was fitting.

Now, I know in the description it says 'no side pairings' but would anyone here object to a little SpaBel in this story? And the tomato gang in general? It's kinda important for the story.

Speaking of which, I have the middle and end of this more or less planned out but the next few chapters are pretty hazy. Does anyone have any suggestions or just general things they'd like to see happen? Please give feedback!


	9. The looks

A whole week passed since Amelia's proposal and in that time it wasn't mentioned once. In fact, little seemed to have changed at all in the little cabin. Arthur would sleep most of the day, then disappear at night whilst Amelia looked after Peter, hunted and tried to get the child to stomach stronger foods. He could eat meat now, mainly bland food like rabbit, but there was still a long way to go. He was stronger, though, and though he didn't have the strength to run around like a boy of his age, he could walk without getting tired.

One evening, as Peter sat and read from an old copy of the bible, Arthur approached Amelia, who was sitting outside in the evening light sewing a ripped waistcoat of Peter's. She was perched on a fallen tree trunk thick enough to act as a seat.

'So, you really think you have what it takes to be a gentleman-err gentlewoman of the road?' Arthur sat next to her.

'I like to think so,' replied Amelia.

Arthur couldn't help but smile, 'well, Peter seems more than capable of surviving on his own for a few hours; he is twelve, after all.'

'What are you saying?' Amelia raised an eyebrow.

'I'm asking that you accompany me tonight, to, shall we say, learn the ropes.'

'You really think I would be able to?' Amelia's face lit up.

'I don't see why not,' Arthur shrugged, and was almost crushed to death by Amelia, sewing needle pocking into his side painfully.

'Oh thank you! I promise I'll be a good student and listen!'

'Yes, well,' Arthur was unsure of how to react to such close contact, 'so, I believe we should… pick out your costume.'

'Oh that's right,' Amelia stood up and laughed, 'I can't go out like this!'

'No,' Arthur smiled, 'you'll need to borrow some of my clothes, coat, hat, wig, the lot. I hope you do not oppose to cross-dressing.'

'Not at all,' replied Amelia, 'I've always been a little envious of how you men can walk freely in your men clothes while we women are bogged down by dresses.'

'I've always considered dresses magnificent,' Arthur shrugged, 'not to wear, just to look at. But yes, very impractical, are they not?'

'So what should I wear?' Amelia ran towards the house.

'I'm sure we can find something to your tastes.'

The pair walked inside and Arthur dragged a large trunk into the middle of the room. He untied the straps and opened it to reveal an assortment of male clothes.

'Well, you'll need a shirt,' Arthur tossed an embroidered, ruffled shirt to Amelia, who caught it and held it up, 'and trousers, long socks, cream waistcoat and breeches.' Each item he listed as he threw them to Amelia, 'we can add the accessories after you try those on.' He stood up and nodded to the trunk, 'there are others in there if you find those do not suit. Feel free to rifle around.'

'Of course,' Amelia peered at the mass of clothes in the trunk, 'it's like the time my sisters and I tried on papa's clothes to see what they felt like. He had many fashionable garments that's he'd brought with him from Paris so it was so much fun! I remember Marianne and Michelle looked funny in their large clothes. Matilda looked really pretty though.'

'You're French?' Arthur raised an eyebrow.

'On my papa's side,' Amelia clarified, 'though I consider myself American.'

'I see,' there was a pause before Arthur spoke again, 'well, Peter and I shall leave you to change now. Don't be too long, please.' He ushered the boy outside and Amelia was left alone.

'No peeking,' she called jokingly.

'I'll make sure his eyes stay where they're meant to,' Peter called back.

Amelia chuckled and took off her dress, the same dress she'd been wearing for weeks now. It was simple and dark in colour, not extravagant and jewelled, like the dresses rich women in this country seemed to enjoy wearing. Standing in her petticoats, Amelia poked and prodded different parts of her body, and wondered if her large hips and breasts would give her sex away to anyone she came across. Well there wasn't much she could do about it now. Or was there?

Glancing around the room, Amelia spied a roll of cloth, for bandaging wounds, Arthur had told her, and had an idea. She slipped out of her petticoats and undergarments, and wound the cloth tightly around her chest. Well, at least she looked more masculine now. She slipped the long socks on, which came to her knee, and pulled the trousers, which also came to her knee, on. She buttoned the shirt and smiled. Yes, as much as she loved her dress, and pretty dresses in general, these were far lighter and freer, less restricting and not as tight. She felt like she could run, jump, do anything she wanted in them. The shirt and trousers were a little too large, but Amelia decided they would conceal her feminine body better anyway.

'You can come in now!' she called.

The door opened and Peter ran in, 'wow!' he exclaimed, 'you look so different now! You look like a handsome boy, well, you will with a wig and coat.'

'Of course,' Amelia laughed heartily, 'so what do you think I should complete my outfit with Arthur? …Arthur?'

Arthur didn't reply, merely staring in shocked silence. His face was red, even his ears, and he covered his mouth with his hand.

Amelia frowned, 'Do you not like it?'

'N-no,' he spluttered, 'it's just… well, the clothes highlight your… err,' he looked away, 'we should really find you a coat.'

Amelia couldn't help but chuckle, 'are you serious? You find my clothes tight and revealing?'

'No!' Arthur protested, 'it's just… I haven't seen this side of you before.' He tripped on a wooden box in his haste to find a coat for her. He reached into the trunk and practically threw the first one he found at Amelia.

'Thank you,' Amelia slipped into the coat and patted it down. It was dark, which red trimming and gold buttons. The sleeves were large, and engulfed her arms, despite already being turned up. The thing was long enough to reach to just below her knees. 'Should I do the buttons up before you faint?' she offered.

'Y-you need a cravat first,' Arthur handed her the little necktie, still not looking at her.

'Course,' Amelia tied the cravat around her, 'and what about footwear?' she asked once the buttons on her coat were done up.

'Well you have a choice here,' began Arthur, 'we have little black shoes, these ones with the silver buckles, or long boots.'

'I'll take the shoes please,' Amelia placed the things on her feet and walked around in circles around the room to get used to them.

'Now, wigs,' Arthur pulled several out of a separate box, 'I have a few in different colours, you know, so I don't wear the same one all the time- too recognisable.'

'Why weren't you wearing one when you robbed me?' questioned Amelia.

'Ah, well they're very itchy,' explained Arthur, 'and I wanted to give my head a rest.' He stood up and studied her hair, 'well, it's short, so easier to pin back.' he set to work fixing her hair with an assortment of pins before placing a black wig on her head, followed by a three-cornered hat. 'We want you to look your best now, don't we?'

'Most definitely,' Amelia grinned, 'what's left?'

'The finishing touch,' Arthur held up a dark mask, 'to conceal your identity.'

'Of course,' Amelia allowed him to tie the mask around her face, highlighting her eyes.

'Well,' Arthur let out a chuckle as he stared into her face, 'I may have built up a reputation as the green eyed terror, but it seems Oxfordshire will now have to worry about the blue-eyed terror, or the blue eyed beauty. Whichever you prefer.'

'I should hope so.' The pair stared at each other and time seemed to slow down. For an instant, they forgot where they were then Arthur suddenly looked away, coughing.

'Shall we get going now?' he said simply, placing a mask on his face, 'we don't want all the travellers to reach their taverns with full pockets, do we?'

'Of course,' Amelia grinned.

'Oh, Miss Jones,' Arthur reached into his pocket and pulled out something metallic, 'I believe this belongs to you.' he handed her precious dagger to her.

'Oh, thank you so much!' Amelia took it and held it close to her. It looked the same, why would it be any different? Still, she was glad to have the only tie to her family back, 'why are you giving it back to me now?'

'Well, it is yours, after all,' Arthur shrugged, 'and I trust you now,'

'Thank you,' Amelia repeated, tucking the dagger into her pocket, 'I feel much safer now.'

'Excellent,' Arthur turned to his brother, 'now Peter, will you be good while Miss Jones and I are out?'

'Of course,' Peter grinned, 'but don't be out too late, please Artie.'

'We'll try not to be,' Arthur walked out the door and Amelia, after saying her own farewell, followed.

'Once again we'll be sharing a horse,' Arthur untied Elizabeth and mounted her. He held out a hand for Amelia and pulled her up, 'I think I'll do the first hold up, just to show you how it goes, and then we'll let you have a go.'

'Sounds good,' replied Amelia, 'onwards we go!'

…

So, any good so far? Sorry for the delay; but I'm finally piecing a story together. I now have more (but not all of) a middle that will give a closer look into the lives of people (especially criminals) of this period in both the country and a crowded city.

Still taking suggestions though.


	10. In the shadows

The sun had already set in the woods next to the narrow dirt track, shadows spawning in the dusk. In the darkness, the trees took on sinister forms, branches reaching down, reaching for unsuspecting victims below and the trunks' faces twisted into pained, sneering expressions. Somewhere, an owl gave out a hoot, and a fox slipped through the undergrowth whilst a moth flitted from tree to tree. The cold breeze wafted through the trees, chilling anyone present to the very bone. Not that there were many people around. Of course, the night was young and there would be the odd late-night traveller still to come, unaware of the presence in amongst the trees. Unaware of the predators awaiting their next victims.

'Okay,' Arthur whispered to Amelia, 'I think it's probably best if I do the first one, just so you get an idea of how this works.'

Amelia, who had dismounted and stood in the shadows next to Arthur on Bessie, nodded, 'yes,' she murmured, 'it's better for me to learn by watching first. But I'll pick it up in no time,' She peered through the trees, thinking about how she used to be the alone, frightened prey wandering along the road, unsuspecting of any danger.

'Are you alright?' asked Arthur, brows furrowed in concern, 'you seem a bit off.'

'No, it's just,' Amelia sighed, 'I know what it's like to be on the receiving end of this. I'm still unable to fathom how you can rob people of their possessions.'

'And I am unable to fathom how fate can suddenly turn by brother from a healthy young child to a skeletal invalid. That is what I think about when doing this: what is material possession compared to Peter's life?' he paused for a moment and regarded her with interest. 'Do you not have highwaymen in you new world or America?'

'Of course,' Amelia wrinkled her nose, 'you English keep transporting your criminals over there where they just commit more crime.'

'Sorry about that,' Arthur chuckled, 'though we do hang more often than we transport.' It was like the two were leaders of their respective countries discussing matters of national interest, not just two criminals.

'I presumed that much,' replied Amelia, 'I must admit you're the first highwayman I've met. It would appear my little town in America is not of much interest to you gentlemen of the streets so highwaymen are little more than a romanticized legend to me. Until a few weeks ago, of course.'

'Of course,' replied Arthur.

'So what about you?' asked Amelia, 'did you like the idea of highwaymen before well… you know?'

'Hmm, I'd probably say no,' Arthur chuckled, 'but I was pretty high up on the social ladder, so found them a nuisance and a constant threat. I mean, if you had vast riches would you like the idea of them being taken away by street robbers?'

'No, I suppose you have a point there,' Amelia hummed.

They waited a few more minutes in silence before they heard the sound of hooves clopping over loose stones and a lone man on horseback came into view.

'Here I go,' Arthur whispered, flicking the reins to get Bessie to move, he strode out into the middle of the road, blocking the traveller's path, illuminated in the silver moonlight.

'Halt!' he cried, 'turn over your possessions to me and I will spare your life.'

Almost immediately, the traveller yelped and began to plead.

'No, please, I beg of you!' he exclaimed, 'all I own is what I have on me!'

Amelia noticed Arthur's eye's close briefly and she could almost see what he was seeing: Peter's hollow face looking imploringly up at him. Then Arthur opened his eyes and his lip curled into a snarl as he pulled the pistol from his long, dark coat.

'Do you think I care?' he growled, 'your bag! Give it to me.'

The traveller nodded and took off his satchel, throwing it to Arthur, who caught it and nodded.

'That'll be all for tonight,' he told the traveller, 'a highwayman's blessing to ya; you may go on your way.'

'Thank you! Thank you!' the traveller continued his slow trek and Arthur stepped aside to allow him to pass. Well, thought Amelia, there really seemed nothing to it. Highway robbery appeared almost… peaceful. Yes, they were parting people from their money and jewels, but it was all for a severely ill little boy; that can't be too bad. And some travellers were robbed of their clothes and horse too, so it really could've been worse. Besides, Arthur and the traveller were almost acting civilly to each other, well, as civil as a situation like this could get.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Arthur letting out an angry cry, throwing the satchel on the ground. The traveller panicked and urged his horse to go faster but Arthur had already turned the pistol on him and it as too late.

He was shot to the ground.

Amelia yelped; she couldn't help it. Running out into the street she stopped short of Arthur, taking a few anxious steps backwards. What if he turned the gun on her too?

'I'm sorry you had to see that,' Arthur took off his mask and rubbed his nose, 'I really didn't want it to turn out like this but… I just lost my temper.' Amelia didn't move, not entirely trusting him. 'I'm not going to hurt you,' he assured her, 'that… that bastard had it coming!' he looked tired, let down, and Amelia tried to think why.

'What did he do?' asked Amelia, relaxing now.

'Look in the bag,' Arthur gestured over to the satchel, lying on the ground, open, with bank notes spilling out.

'Oh, that seems like a lot,' Amelia bent down and scooped up a handful of the little papers, only to find they were all cut in half, 'strange,' she murmured.

'Shame it's all useless,' spat Arthur.

'What do you mean?' Amelia looked back at the banknote halves.

'That's what some traveller's do,' explained Arthur, 'they cut up their banknotes, take half, and send for the other half at another time to stitch back up.'

'You can do that?' Amelia let out an impressed whistle, rummaging through the rest of the bag. There was nothing of any worth, no gold, no jewels, just banknote halves.

'Unfortunately yes,' Arthur groaned, 'if there… if it wasn't useless like this… there might have been enough to get us to Scotland.'

'Oh…' Amelia felt a flash of anger. They had been _that_ close? That close to reuniting with Arthur's siblings and… no wonder Arthur had lost his temper.

'I promise to control my emotions in future,' Arthur dismounted and walked over to the traveller's horse, which had tangled its reins in the trees when it tried to escape. The beast was whinnying and pulling at the branches, but couldn't free itself and was becoming increasingly distressed.

'There there,' soothed Arthur, walking over, 'calm down old boy.'

Whilst Arthur attempted to subside the horse, Amelia studied the body of the dead man closely. He was middle-aged, greying hairs poking out from underneath his askew wig, and there were already lines on his face. Judging by his attire, he seemed pretty well off. She wondered if he'd had a family. Did he also have children? Would they wonder where their father was? Did it even matter to her?

Amelia turned away from the body, holding back tears. It was silly; she was just upsetting herself and she knew it. But who wasn't upset at their first sight of death? She'd been too young to remember her mother's passing, and this man had died so suddenly… violently.

Just do what Arthur does, she told herself. Think of Peter. Think of his happy little smile and his cheerful voice and how he needed to get better and be with his family again.

'Well Miss Jones,' began Arthur, snapping Amelia out of her thoughts, 'I believe we will no longer be needing to share a ride.' He approached her, leading the traveller's horse by its reins.

'Oh,' Amelia felt somewhat uncomfortable at the thought of riding a dead man's horse, but held up her hand to pat it anyway, 'hello boy,' she purred, 'my name's Amelia. What shall we call you then?' tentatively, she began stroking the horse's face. He was beautiful. Black in colour, large brown eyes stared at her through long lashes and she giggled, 'I think I'll call you Francis, after Papa.'

'A French name?' Arthur raised an eyebrow, 'well, could be worse, I suppose.'

'Oh don't be so petty,' chided Amelia, 'but thank you for the horse.'

'Not at all; you're good with animals,' commented Arthur.

'Thank you,' Amelia repeated, running her fingers through Francis' mane.

'I guess we should clear up,' began Arthur, 'and wait for more travellers.'

Amelia glanced at the body and bag, then nodded, 'of course.'

'Do you think you will be able to do the next one?'

Amelia flashed him a grin, 'just you try and stop me!'

…

Woah long time no see, huh?

So, I should explain that the whole cutting banknotes in half was a real way to try and cheat highwaymen, though it wasn't very successful as it just pissed them off. And it really was pretty simple to stick the notes back together. There were other methods to keep your money safe from robbers which might show up in later chapters.

Oh, and transportation to America was a pretty popular punishment at the time, as well as transportation to Canada and, more famously, Australia which, although it had been discovered, was not under British rule (in fact, it was discovered by the Dutch and called 'New Holland' at the time) until 1770.

And I know this chapter was violent and poor random traveller and all but… it really could've been worse. Seriously, a highwayman once nailed a priest to a tree by his dick. I'm not even lying.

But, shockingly, it was executions, notably hanging, that were the most common way to deal with criminals. There were hundreds of offenses that carried the death penalty, even something as trivial as stealing a spoon or cloth. Try to bear that in mind.

Anyway, please give me feedback and please, please tell me if I'm doing something wrong or if you have any advice.

…seriously though, HIS DICK! HOW PAINFUL MUST THAT HAVE BEEN? AND HE WAS JUST LEFT THERE! I'M A GIRL AND EVEN I FUCKING YELPED WHEN I READ THAT!

HIS FUCKING DICK!


	11. Ladies with pistols

'_As I was going' over the Cork and Kerry mountains  
I saw Captain Farrell and his money he was counting  
I first produced my pistol and I then produced my rapier  
I said stand or deliver or the devil he may take ya'_

…

Jan- Netherlands

Eva- Belgium

…

'Are you comfortable?' Jan tried to make polite conversation with his sister, as neither had spoken in a while. The duo were sitting alone in a magnificent carriage, opposite each other in silence.

'Yes of course,' Eva lifted a small, gloved hand to tuck a lose strand of hair behind her ear and straighten her necklace, 'it will be nice to see my dear Antonio again.' The necklace was emerald and gold, heavy and detailed.

'Hmph,' Jan wrinkled his nose and folded his arms.

Eva just chuckled, 'my dearest brother, please do not frown. Father said I will marry him, so I shall. Besides, he is a lovely, charming man and I could do far worse.'

'That does not mean I have to like the idiot,' Jan shot back. Eva laughed and leaned forward, straightening her brother's wig, which was sliding to the left. Eva herself never bothered with them, finding her own hair far grander, and Jan allowed her to go without when it was just the two of them. He personally liked the things, feeling they gave his hair more volume.

'Are we there yet?' Eva grinned.

'Not yet, but soon,' replied Jan, 'if all goes well.'

…

'I think someone's coming,' hissed Arthur, gripping Amelia's shoulder in a gesture of support. Amelia forgot to breathe for a moment. So this was it. Now was when her crimes stepped up a notch. It was one thing to kill and cook a rabbit or deer illegally, or cut open someone's purse when they weren't looking but armed robbery?

Amelia raised her hand to her throat which, had her sister not stepped in, would have had a coil of rope wrapped around it.

Then again, humans have never really been nice to her.

'Go,' Arthur pushed her forward, softly. Amelia nodded and flicked Francis' reins, stepping into the moonlit road. She stopped in front of a large carriage, pulled by four horses, carefully controlled by a finely dressed driver. This looked like it would be full of jewels and money. Remembering Arthur's advice, she pictured little Peter, curled up asleep, exhausted from illness and starvation, and the image gave her the confidence to go through with it.

'Halt!' Amelia tried to make her voice sound as gruff as possible. The driver pulled on the reins and the carriage came to an abrupt halt, 's-stand and deliver!' she pulled out a pistol, just to prove her point. It wasn't loaded, and even if it was she wouldn't know how to use it. She made a mental note to ask Arthur to teach her.

Gun still pointed at the driver, she lead the horse to the side of the carriage and threw open the door. Inside were a young man and woman, siblings maybe? The pair jumped, yelping when they saw Amelia.

'Give me all your money, jewels, silver, everything!' she growled, 'now!'

'No,' the brother stood up the best he could in the tiny compartment, 'why should we be afraid of you scum?'

'Because I'm the scum with the gun,' replied Amelia, still trying to disguise her voice.

The brother growled and lunged forward, but Amelia pulled on Francis' reins and the horse quickly stepped to the side. The young man stumbled slightly, falling out of the carriage onto the road. He immediately pulled himself up, stepping between Amelia and his sister protectively.

Amelia snarled; the last thing she wanted was a confrontation. She lunged forward and grabbed his wig, pulling it over his face so he couldn't see. Then she kicked him in the stomach, hard, and he fell to the floor, groaning.

Turning her attention to the sister, Amelia urged her horse to step forward. The girl paled considerably, glancing fearfully at her brother, then reaching down her dress and pulling out a gun of her own. Before she had a chance to aim, Amelia knocked it out of her hand, away from both siblings' reach.

'Don't make me kill you,' she growled, pointing her own pistol in the sister's face, 'give me your money.'

'No,' the girl's jaw squared, 'I won't let you get away with this.'

'I mean it,' Amelia wondered what she should do if the girl refused. Maybe Arthur would step in for that bit…

'You're a brute! And you'll hang for sure!'

'I will kill your brother too!' Amelia aimed the gun at the boy, who was stirring slightly.

The girl faltered, 'you'd… shoot an injured person?'

'I'll shoot all of you!' cried Amelia.

'Evie… please,' the boy looked at her pleadingly, 'don't do this. If you… die… I'll never forgive myself.'

'Jan…' Eva gazed down at her brother, 'okay, fine,' she glared at Amelia, pulling a large chest out from under the seat in the carriage, 'here, that's all we have.'

Amelia took the chest, balancing it on the saddle, 'your necklace too!'

Eva stopped, 'but… my fiancé bought me that.'

'I don't care,' growled Amelia, 'give it to me,'

'Fine,' Eva unclipped her necklace and threw it in Amelia's direction, 'is that all?'

'You may go on with your journey.'

'Good,' spat Eva, 'scumbag, I hope you die!'

Amelia stepped back to allow Jan to stumble back into the carriage before letting off a string of abuse, 'oh on with you, ya pair of double-poxed long-arsed salivated bitches in grain! You suffocated dogs in doublets!'

'Amelia,' Arthur stepped out from the cluster of trees he was hiding in, 'I don't think they can hear you.'

'You spawn of hell hatched by Beelzebub!' Amelia threw one last insult at the retreating carriage for good measure.

'Charming,' Arthur blinked in shock, 'where did you hear that?'

'Well on my travels I picked up a few of your English swear words,' Amelia winked, 'what's the matter? Never seen a woman swear?'

'No, I believe not,' admitted Arthur, 'well, it turned out to be a good night after all,' he reached over in his saddle and opened the chest. Inside were silver plates and candlesticks, 'well done Miss Jones! We're almost there! The only thing we have to do is go to London- when we have all we need- and change it for cash.'

'Oh I've never been to London,' Amelia grinned, 'you know a place that'll take stolen goods?'

'Thankfully,' replied Arthur, 'I know several. That way we can find someone honest. Well, as honest as criminals get.'

'Sounds good,' Amelia sighed contently, 'so, shall we call it a night?'

'An excellent idea, Miss Jones.'

…

'Are you okay?' Eva looked at her brother with worry. He was clutching his stomach, eyes closed. His wig lay on the seat next to him, abandoned, and his clothes were covered in mud and dirt.

'Huh?' replied Jan gruffly, 'perfectly fine. Are you? That brute didn't hurt you, did he?'

'No, only scared me,' Eva shrugged, though she was shaking terribly.

'He didn't see through… our plan,'

Eva chuckled, lifting up the skirt of her large, ornate dress to reveal dozens of coins- all sizes- sewed to the inside petticoats, 'nope, he never thought to check.'

'Ah good,' Jan gave a small smile.

…

Antonio sat sprawled in his settee in the large sitting room of his manor, waiting impatiently for his betrothed and her brother. The sun had long set and he was starting to grow worried. Surely they hadn't gotten lost or attacked. Maybe the carriage had broken down. Antonio wondered if he should send someone to find them, but decided against it.

They would be fine.

Oxfordshire wasn't really known for its highwayman problem, so it couldn't be that, right? He'd heard stories, servants' discussions, of a highwayman, a gentleman who used to be wealthy and powerful resorting to criminal means.

Antonio wondered why he was always in such a state when it came to Eva.

He hadn't been too thrilled when the time came for him to make a union with another rich noble, and at thirty he was pushing it a bit, so it was hard to find someone to allow him their sister or daughter's hand. Antonio had wondered why he'd bothered. He wouldn't be able to love them. He'd not allowed anyone into his heart since…

No, he couldn't think about that any more.

But when he first saw Eva? Well, there was no one like her. She was beautiful, yes, and appeared sweet, but anyone could be those. It was her humour, her intelligence, her wit… he knew she was someone he could be close to, laugh with, and talk to! Antonio wondered how many other nobles could proudly say they loved to have intelligent discussions with their wives and fiancés. Rich women, to Antonio, were either unhappy with their husbands, or too stupid to care, with exceptions.

Over the past weeks spent waiting for her arrival, Antonio had made so many plans for what he and Eva could do together. No, nothing like that! They weren't married yet! He meant walked in the gardens, reading, discussing books and religion and politics. They were both Catholic, so that made it easier for them to get along. Shame he was still at odd with her intimidating, gruff, _Protestant_ brother.

Suddenly, the doors were flung open and Eva ran in, closely followed by Jan.

'Eva?' Antonio ran to the girl and hugged her, 'what's wrong?' Eva was close to tears now, hair and clothes dishevelled and shaking visibly.

'We were attacked,' explained Jan, 'a highway robber! They almost… I thought they were going to…' he couldn't finish his sentence; one glance at Eva said it all.

'He had a gun,' whispered Eva, 'he stole my own pistol so I couldn't defend myself.'

Antonio's face grew dark, 'they… they _attacked_ you?'

'They only stole some silver, and your necklace.'

Antonio held his fiancé close, 'they'll pay; mark my words they'll pay. No one hurts you and gets away with it!'

'What are you proposing?' Jan raised an eyebrow.

'A hunt!' cried Antonio, 'we'll get the men, search the area.' He stepped back, holding Eva's face in his hands, 'they'll hang, I promise you darling.'

'Thank you.'

…

Hey, long time no see, huh? Well, I hope you enjoyed this new chapter, and I hope you don't mind the SpaBel. Also, I hope I got everyone in character enough, especially the new ones.

Now, did you know that the phrase 'to pull the wool over one's eyes' comes from this era, and refers to a trick highwaymen would use: pulling the wigs of rich travellers over their eyes to stop them from attacking back.

The travellers themselves had a few tricks too: women would really sew coins to the insides of dresses to hide them. They would also hide guns down their dresses (which actually ties in nicely with my head canon that Belgium hides things in her bra/top for convenience). Like with other tricks, they worked well as long as they weren't caught. Any resistance was usually put down pretty brutally by robbers (example: the priest who had his dick nailed to a tree. I read up on the subject more and the act was committed by a certain Jacob Halsey, who said, after the priest attacked him, 'I see you canst exercise the long staff [weapon] pretty well, but I'll prevent you from using your short one tonight'.)

Also, those curses Amelia used? All real. I would have said more but those were the only three I could find in my book (the rest were 'unprintable' apparently).

And the lyrics are from the folk song 'Whiskey in the jar'.


End file.
